MISTY MEMORY
And that is how I remember them, the people from my past;
I expected crisp, bright images that would last and last and last.
There's Grandpa. I really adored him, but except for a photograph
I truly remember just curly hair, a round face and a belly-laugh.
There's Jo, a great friend of my youth, I expected to have recall,
There's Jo, a great friend of my youth, I expected to have recall,
But I just remember her on a bus..... that's absolutely all.
My children as babies? Surely I'd remember each smile and tear!
But no! They're just a vague chubbiness from a very distant year.
How we rely on photographs! Without them we'd be lost,
They'd be like flowers of summertime killed by a winter frost.
In the days before technology, in the days before the 'click',
And even before the first artists learned the portrait trick,
How the bereaved must have wrestled with this absence of recall!
They'd be looking for a memory and finding nothing at all.
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